Terrible Teachers

I've been blogging now for just over two weeks and I must say, I've been really enjoying it. 'Why didn't I listen to all those people who told me to start blogging years ago?'

Books were always part of our household, my Mummys husband is an avid reader. I've seen him read four / five books in one week. He told me he could speed read, I just thought, 'showoff'! My granny always had a book in her hand, usually something by Catherine Cookson or the St Martin magazine! I was always buying books from the school book club or getting them out from the library, wherever you turned in our house there was a book.

I was never a straight A student, more middle of the road until about the age of 14. I'd put this down to many things but that's a whole other blog. Anyway, during my secondary school days I had an English teacher by the name of Mr Brannigan, I'm sure he's dead now but maybe not. He had aged before his time, the wrinkles on his face told a story of one too many students, and his hair was well, non existent, apart from the few strands he grew so he could have a brush over. His most defining characteristic however was his attitude or perhaps lack of personality, it had kind of flat lined at some point and none of his good friends (assuming he had some) had decided to tell him.

The flat lining of Mr Brannigan has had repercussions that I'm sure have stretched far and wide beyond his classroom. Mr Brannigan didn't give us the basics of English, but what he did give us was lots and lots of book reviews. That was our weekly task, read a book, review it, read a book, review it, read a book, review it, for the guts of three years. I did read some fantastic books during that period, Brendan Beehans Borstel Boy, The Lion, Witch and The Wardrobe, and many others that I can't quiet think off at the minute. If you were lazy and didn't want to read a book he was more than satisfied if you handed him in the synopsis printed on the back of a book rewritten. What he didn't do was teach us the basics of English, comas, nouns, pro-nouns, adjectives, etc. I distinctly recall learning paragraphs however.

I was fast approaching 14 and entering 4th year, getting reading to study for my GCSE's in 2 years time, when it was announced to us that we'd be getting a new English teacher, Mr O'Doherty. I was delighted, over the moon, excited, as O'Doc, was the coolest teacher in the entire school. He dressed with a flair of style, was always tanned, had highlights in his hair and best of all, you could smell him coming before you seen him for he used Jazz aftershave like water.

It only took O'Doc a week to discover that our entire class had very little basic skills with the written word and I mean basic. We even seen the shock in his face when we didn't know the difference between there and their. I bet he initially thought it was just the odd one or two students but he was soon to realise that it was the entire class. The whole class seemed to let out a sigh of relief when this dawned on him, thank god it wasn't us, we knew Brannigan wasn't interested all along. He went straight back to basics and for the next two years gave us a crash course in English along with sticking to the curriculum to ensure we passed our exams.

The lack of enthusiasm Mr Brannigan showed in his class has lived with me to this very day. He didn't inspire me, didn't encourage me to ask questions, and simply didn't appear to care. I lack confidence in writing but I do enjoy story telling kind off a catch 22 situation there or is that their. (Only kidding) I just wish that Mr Brannigan realised he was in a rut and done something about it. What he has taught me though is that no matter what, you can do whatever you want by just putting your mind to it, accepting your mistakes, learning from them and moving on.

So three cheers to the written word, the hard work of O'Doc and one in the memory of Mr Brannigan, for I'm sure he did inspire many students before he became worn out.